Grin and Bear It
by ilarual
Summary: Spending the summer working at a carnival with your girlfriend? Fun! Spending the summer inside a sweaty bear mascot costume while your girlfriend gets irrationally jealous of random civilians? Less fun. Soul Evans and Maka Albarn seem to have landed something just a little less than their dream job...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N-** Well folks, it's Reverb time again! I've another fic in the pipeline for the end of the month, but first, for your delectation, a little SoMa/JacKim collaboration between Professor Maka and myself! This year we were writing for the ever-talented Lunai Legends. The cover art is a sample of her artwork this fic was based on, and I will link to the rest of it on my blog as soon as it becomes available, so stay tuned for that!

The first chapter of this story is Professor Maka's work, and the second chapter (still in the process of undergoing final edits) will be posted once I'm off work this evening.

* * *

He hates working kiddy rides-it's why he'd volunteered for mascot duty anyway-yet he still finds himself loading yet another snot-nosed drooler into a mini race car for a go around. It's even his break, damn it, but it's not _her_ break, and he'd do anything for extra time with his girlfriend, up to and apparently including wasting his would be down time working.

When Maka grins at his return to the control booth, flipping the go switch with a "thanks, Soul," he decides it's worth it. Her fuschia work uniform is eye searing, but the skirt so short it's probably illegal in 9 countries makes it his favorite thing ever. No one should have legs that long, and he's eager for when their shifts are over and he might (oh _please_ ) actually get to touch them again.

Soul is about to maybe, possibly lean to steal a little peck on the mouth or cheek-he's not picky-because while they've been friends forever and roommates for two years, the whole dating thing is shiny and new, had begun a bare two weeks ago with an unintentional slip of the tongue on his part, a very intentional confession on hers, and lots of mutual slips of the tongue shortly after that still made his stomach feel sick and giddy just to remember-when she whips to the side and huffs.

"They're at it again. Gross."

Who _what, now?_

He must look surprised, because she takes a hand up to his cheek to steer his gaze, and he's not about to protest when it feels so _warm_.

His eyes flicker and flounder for what's got her snickering and muttering gross again as she removes her hand, but then he spots what she's talking about and rolls his own eyes.

Kim Diehl runs a string of three game booths across the way and is sitting up on the side of the counter in the middle booth, legs crossed and barely concealing whatever is under her own too short skirt, not that Soul really _cares_. The girl had hit on him early on in their work days and he had run to Maka for cover every damn time. Until, that is, he'd figured out that hitting on everything that moved was _her_ cover and they'd all become something like friends. Sort of. More like Maka's friends, but whatever.

Predictably, Jackie Dupree is standing next to Kim, facing her, one hand on an overexposed thigh. Definitely gross. "Can't they keep it in the bedroom?" he groused, mostly for Maka's benefit.

"But Soul, they aren't dating." Maka's eyeroll is epic and Soul snorts.

"Shyeah, just like Blondie and the Nutty Professor aren't going at it like fucking rabbits every damn day in the business office. I feel sorry for whichever shmo has to clean that jizzfest."

" _Gross_ , Soul." The punch to the arm isn't exactly unexpected, nor is the snicker. "And Hiro cleans it. You do _not_ want to know what he told me he found last week."

He might have been jealous-Hiro has a clear and present thing for Maka, has even asked her out a few times-but Maka is his girlfriend- _his girlfriend-_ -and Soul knows she's not interested. Instead, he says, "try me."

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you, but speaking of jizzfest, he found like six used condoms at the top of the garbage. _Six_. And I guess he'd already emptied it that morning. _Six_." They engage in mutual gagging noises for a moment before Maka adds, "But they 'aren't dating' either."

Of _course_ they aren't. No one is, including Soul and Maka-it's against company policy.

Soul is about to suggest that Stein owns this shitshow and could change the policy if he really wanted to, but Maka interrupts the thought with a little "oh" and flips the switch to the ride. The kids have gotten triple time, but there isn't really a line, so it's not like it matters.

Soul goes off to help the grubby little monsters off like the dutiful boyfriend he is, helping on the few kids left in line before returning to the booth. The kiss on the cheek he gets surprises him, but before he can try to wrangle it into more, she leans against the control panel, looking thoughtful.

"You know, though, I wonder how that even _works_."

"Huh?" Somewhere between the ride change and the cheek kiss, he's totally lost her train of thought.

"Stein and Marie. He's just so big and she's so _not_ and-" she's red, intriguingly so, and it clicks "-well, it seems like that wouldn't be much fun for her, I guess."

The fact she's theorizing sex between their bosses makes him feel like he might lose the granola bar he'd shoved down for breakfast that morning, but she sounds so thoughtful that he knows there's more to it. Stein is tall and gangly and Marie is _tiny_. But Soul is also tall and gangly, not quite Stein tall but close enough, and Maka is also _tiny_ , though strong enough to hand him his ass easily, and the wheels in his head click into place as he realizes that she's talking about their bosses, but she's really talking about _them_.

They haven't had sex. He's never had sex with anyone, he knows she hasn't either, and so far, they've only kissed and groped a little, and yet, she's already thinking five steps beyond.

Maka thinks too much when she's not thinking too little, not jumping in feet first, and he really doesn't want to blow off her concern because, fuck it all, he really wants to get where her mind is going someday sooner than later, but only when she's ready for that _if_ she's ready for that because he loves her too damn much not to put her first, always, no matter how much her legs make him want to get down on his knees and weep for joy, and just, _fuck_. He doesn't have answers, but he's seen a porn or five and it always works out just peachy. It's not gonna be a problem, he thinks.

"I'm-pretty sure she likes it based on how often she lets him, and uh, the noises she makes-'cause we've all heard them, shut up." He's red and scratching the back of his neck furiously. "Plus, uh, lube is a thing, and foreplay, and yeah." He's not _just_ red, can't be, he's gotta be nuclear, a glowing beacon of mortification, and he wants to bury his head in a hole and die, but he needs to assuage her fears, so here he is, an ball of embarrassment, regret, and distant longing.

"How do _you_ know?" Her eyes narrow dangerously.

His own eyes reach for the ceiling, something between sarcasm and lord please help me keep my sacred bits intact. "Okay, I know you know I've watched porn before, and you've met my brother-you know, the one with the big fucking mouth who gets around? So yeah."

She breathes a sigh and relaxes and he breathes his own sigh. "That makes sense, I guess. Plus she must really, _really_ like it. _Six_ , Soul. How did she even walk later?" She makes a face. "So _gross_."

"Yup," he agrees. "Totally nasty."

His break should have been done ten minutes ago, so he takes his leave with that thought and can't help but to think he wouldn't mind using six condoms with her.

An hour later, he's pretty much ready to die.

It's sweltering under the Nevada sunshine, which is bad enough stuck in this god awful bear suit that smells like old cheese and rotting feet, but now he has Math Class stuck to him as close, gross, and unwanted as the sweat on his balls. No, check that, more gross and unwanted than the sweat on his balls-at least that came from him and is trying to keep him cool, whereas Math Class is just annoying. She laughs, high pitched and irritating as she grabs his forearm over the suit and squeezes familiarly. She keeps smacking her gum as she chatters at him uselessly, her high pitched giggles making him wish he could spork out his own ears. He wants to shake her off or curse her out, because has this girl never heard of _personal space_? But he has a job to do, so he just rolls his eyes from within the obscurity the bear head mask affords and says nothing.

"It's just so great you work here when I was thinking of applying!" Math Class gushes. "Wouldn't it be awesome to see each other everyday? So much better than boring math, right?"

Actually, Soul would gladly take a thousand years of Professor Azusa droning on about imaginary numbers over this slow torture. He shrugs, but Math Class doesn't take the hint and just clings more tightly. She must have a name, but he'll be damned if he can remember it, and he doesn't care enough to ask. The girl had been annoying with her giggles and small talk then, and she's worse now, and Soul just wants her to _go the fuck away already_ so he can talk to Maka. Dressed in a pink sundress, red hair in immaculate curls, Soul wouldn't be surprised if she's head of some snooty sorority. She certainly reminds him of the girls he went to highschool with, and she definitely looks out of place among the unwashed masses of the carnival. Does she really expect to get a job _here_ of all places?

He looks around, searching desperately for an escape route- _any_ escape route-and spots his former roommate Blake "Black Star" Barrett stumbling out of the funhouse holding an enormous stuffed bear. He's dressed in his street clothes, being off today, the garish yellow "Locked and Loaded" muscle tee bright in the afternoon sun. The stuffed thing he holds looks creepy as fuck, truth be told, but Soul will take any excuse to remove the barnacle on his arm, so he makes a beeline for Blake, who whoops and sprints to meet him in the midst of the usual mid afternoon carnival crowd. "Soul _my man!_ You'll never believe what I found, it's a-"

"Souuuulie!" The girl, who still had his arm in a vice grip, whines, her very voice so near making Soul cringe within the confines of the suit. "Who-is _this_?" Math Class looks down her nose at Blake.

"This!" Black Star pounds his chest indignantly. "Is your fucking God, peasant, and you ought to learn to bow before me! Also, you shouldn't interrupt a fucking deity when he's speaking to his most loyal-shiiiit, gotta go, catch you later, Brogi Bear, byeeeee!"

As quickly as he had come, Blake is gone, and Soul notices two figures emerging from the funhouse, oddly dressed in black, hooded coats obscuring them, who seem to follow after him, but doesn't have the energy to think on the antics of his friend as he swelters in his own bear suit of perpetual doom and rancidness. Black Star will be Black Star. Soul also has zero attention for the girl tugging at his arm and pressing herself against the side of his suit because he spots a head of hair shining golden in the sunlight along with a pair of wide green eyes. _Maka_! If anyone can get Math Class to disentangle from where she has practically sewn herself to his arm, it's his no bullshit girlfriend. Before he can wave her over, though, said girlfriend makes an inhuman screech, working her jaw uselessly for a moment before turning on her heel to storm away, leaving Soul gaping after her in confusion.

"Fuck," he breaks character to speak and tries to ignore the woman covering her kid's ears as she glares his way. Maka would definitely punch him in the arm, hard, if she had heard him, but she's already stormed off the gods knew where, leaving Soul alone to deal with his personal cling-on. "Break time, gotta go!"

He shakes her off his arm forcefully, but she's following close on his heels. "Oh, great, maybe we can do something! Like-" Fortunately, he's close to an employee changing area and through the entrance before she can finish, the door slamming shut in her face with a thud that is as satisfying as it is relieving. He actually _is_ overdue for a break-another perk of mascot duty is you can only do it for so long without time out of the suit. Soul strips off the suit that smells more like skunk than bear, because _damn_ , and makes for the opposite entrance, hoping this will assure he loses Math Class in the switch.

For once, his luck holds. The redhead is nowhere to be seen and Soul raises the hood of his sweatshirt in an attempt to hide his distinctive hair. Maka might be on break, but he's hoping she isn't and that maybe he can convince her to take one now.

The line to her ride is mercifully empty as he approaches-another stroke of luck-and he comes up with a wide smile.

"Heeeeey," he says casually,

"Hay is for horses, Soul. Now go away, I'm busy."

"Yeah." He looks to the deserted line with an eyeroll. Maka is clearly pissed at him and he doesn't _get it._ He hasn't done a damn thing to piss her off. "You're clearly slammed. Look, come on break with me, I'll buy you a float and tell you about what Black Star-"

"I'm busy!" she hisses. "Maybe you can buy that cute redhead a float. Now go away, I've got a _customer_." She glares at him then turns a thousand megawatt smile onto a woman and her little boy, holding a balloon in his grubby, chubby hands, letting the boy through the gate and helping him onto the ride before returning to the control booth to flip the go switch.

So that's it. She thinks he's-what-into _Math Class o_ f all people? Absurd. And yet, getting her to see that will be like pulling teeth with her inherent distrust of all things with a penis. Not for the first time, Soul feels like punching a certain redheaded middle aged manwhore in his over-botoxed face.

"Maka," his voice is calm, even, as soothing as he can manage through anxiety and confusion and downright _fear_ of losing her over something so petty and wrongheaded. "Go on break with me, we should-"

"I already wasted my break looking for your stupid ass, now leave me alone!" she practically screams, causing the mom watching her kid make the rounds of the ride to look up in concern.

Guilt stabs Soul, irrationally, uselessly, and he mutters, "sorry," as he backs away. Doubt claws at him, fear sending poison tendrils into his heart, his soul. Maka is just so _angry_ , and he doesn't know what to do, how to fix it when he hasn't actually _done_ anything.

He walks aimlessly through the carnival, feeling like he's missing a limb or maybe his heart, and hoping that Math Class chokes on her own gum.

* * *

 **A/N part deux-** Stay tuned for the conclusion in about... oh, eight hours or so, once I'm free from the grasping clutches of customer service hell!


	2. Chapter 2

"God fuckin' _dammit!_ "

Kim pops a fourth piece of bubblegum in her mouth and suppresses a grin as the smug asshole who's been monopolizing her darts game for the past twenty minutes tosses his last dart, fails to pop a single balloon, and wastes the last of yet another five dollars in the process. Holding back her smile gets progressively harder as the dude proceeds to throw a temper tantrum as only a man between the ages of sixteen and twenty three can manage, but when he starts kicking her booth, her humor goes sour fast.

"Oi, stop that," she snarls over his stream of expletives. "You damage anything, you're liable. My boss'll sue your ass like _that_."

"This game is rigged as shit!" he howls. "I want my money back!"

Blank-faced, Kim pops a bubble with her gum and points to the sign on the back wall sandwiched between all the neon-hued prizes: _NO REFUNDS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES_.

"That's such _bullshit!_ "

The guy's fists are flexing and Kim subtly uncrosses her legs, just in case she needs to get off the counter in a hurry. "Ask me how many fucks I give," she says dryly. "This is just a day job, dude, they don't pay me enough to put up with your whiny baby ass."

It's almost funny to watch his face go from red to _purple_. "You wanna say that again you stupid bitch?"

"Oh my god, calm down," she says, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I didn't make you blow thirty bucks on a carnival game, dumbass, you did that all by yourself."

"Bullshit," he snarls. "You kept _flirting_ with me!"

She had. It was the fastest way to con another sucker out of more money than they would have spent on her booth otherwise. Still doesn't mean she's refunding him a single cent, though. "You're a big boy, you make your own decisions," she responds in the most condescending voice possible.

"I want my money back!"

"Excuse me," a soft voice says, "is there a problem here?"

The dude whirls on the newcomer. "You're damn right there's a problem!" he barks. "This dumb bitch is scamming people and she won't refund me!"

But then his eyes actually focus on the Cree girl standing just behind him— because it _is_ Jackie who has approached— and he quiets down. Jackie has that effect on people. She's tall for a girl, standing eye-to-eye with the manchild she's confronting, and very beautiful, with intense, gleaming brown eyes and a gaze so sharp, Kim swears people have cut themselves on it. She doesn't know how the other girl does it, because when it's just her and Jackie alone, her roommate-turned-girlfriend goes soft and sweet-eyed. But when presented with someone she's decided she dislikes, Jackie's temper runs hot, and it manifests in one hell of a resting bitchface.

She's also the carnival's resident fire-eater and part-time sword-swallower, so the fact that she's got a bagful of two-foot blades slung casually across her arm _definitely_ helps the intimidation factor.

Jackie shifts her bag of knives onto her back to free up her left hand, then pulls out her favorite lighter and starts toying with it, snapping it open to allow a flickering little flame to burst forth between her fingertips. "Might wanna rethink whose girlfriend you're calling a dumb bitch," she says.

It's insanely hot how Jackie's entire face has gone ice-cold except for those burning eyes.

The guy's posture wilts as his gaze focuses on the flame that Jackie is steadily growing. Her sleight of hand is impressive; even Kim, who knows what to watch for, has a hard time spotting the moments that she feeds accelerant into it.

"Whatever," the guy grumbles. "Shit's not worth my time."

It's the post-adolescent, testosterone high equivalent of admitting defeat, about as close as she's likely to get to an apology from this guy for being a jackass (not that she wanted one from a freak show like this, but still). Kim's just pleased she's not going to have to explain a damaged booth to Doctor Creepy or his nauseatingly sincere Not Girlfriend— she doesn't especially like dealing with her bosses' lectures.

"That's what I thought," Jackie growls, still pinning him with that deadly gaze of hers.

He turns away with a huff and almost bumps straight into Black Star, who is coming up behind him carrying what has to be the oldest version of the carnival's bear mascot he could find. "You don't wanna play the darts," he warns in a _from one bro to another_ tone of voice. "All these games are rigged as shit."

Black Star laughs. "Tell me something I don't know, my dude!" he says with an expansive grin, causing Kim's erstwhile pest to roll his eyes in disgust as he swaggers away, nursing his bruised ego by kicking a trash can. Kim grins as he yowls and hops on one foot— the carnival grounds waste disposal bins are a lot sturdier than they look.

"Yo, Kimmie, buddy, you been spray-painting the balloons again to make 'em hard?" Black Star asks, turning that smile on her.

Kim gives him a dry look, lips still twitching upward. "You actually have to ask? It's like you don't know me at all…"

Jackie looks scandalized— she's never approved of Kim's scamming methods— but Black Star hoots. "Right on! You keepin' the spare cash?"

"No, she'll be giving it to Miss Marie because that is _the honest thing to do_ ," Jackie says firmly.

Kim pouts. "Aw, Jacks, what fun is rigging my booth if I can't make a little extra cash doing it? It's different for you, Stitches McFreakshow pays actual performers a living wage; the talentless grunts have to do what we can with minimum— just ask Blake, here!"

Her backhanded comment flies right over Black Star's head, to her disappointment— he's so over the top that he's fun to get a rise out of, but he's so caught up in his own head that her jibes completely miss him about half the time.

"Wage schmage," Black Star crows with a carefree wave of his free hand. "Just you wait, scrubs. I'm going to be rolling in it before you know it! And I'd like _you_ —" He points at Kim, "—to be my business partner! I can make us both rich!"

Kim shares a glance with her girlfriend, who flicks her eyes at Black Star— unimpressively dressed in a muscle tank and a pair of basketball shorts that have seen better days and carrying a hideous, mange-eaten mascot head— then meets Kim's gaze again with a sardonically raised eyebrow.

"Go on, ask me how!" he urges when neither of them immediately speaks.

"How?" Jackie asks in the dryest, most sarcastic tone imaginable.

He lifts up the bear head in both hands as enthusiastically as if it were Simba and he'd been transformed into Rafiki. "With this, my blind minions!"

"...What exactly _is_ it?" Kim asks. "Besides lice-infested, I mean?"

Black Star beams. "I'm glad you asked, lady-dude! This one-way ticket to fame and fortune… is _magic._ "

Kim exchanges another eloquent look with her girlfriend. Clearly Black Star has officially flipped his lid. "Um. Okay. Anyway—"

"Oh shit, gotta go!" Black Star exclaims suddenly, blanching as he glances down the alley past the other booths. "Hit me up later, Kimmie, we need to talk ca$h money!" He takes off running in the opposite direction.

A curious look reveals a pair of black-robed figures emerging from behind the unattended ski ball lane. Their heads dart back and forth for a moment before one of their gazes locks onto the fleeing Black Star; he (she? they?) pokes his companion and gestures in the direction of their apparent target. The pair follow Black Star at a walking pace, and within moments have passed by Kim's booth and out of sight.

"Well that was…"

"Weird," Jackie agrees with a sharp nod. "Do you have any idea what Blake was talking about?"

"Nobody ever has any idea what Blake's talking about," Kim replied tartly. "Now are you going to get over here and kiss me, or do I have to do all the work around here for myself?"

Jackie grins and takes the two steps necessary to bring her in range, pressing her lips to Kim's in a soft peck that Kim immediately takes to a much more intense place than Jackie intended. When she finally lets her girlfriend have her lips back, Jackie's eyes stay closed for a long moment, and when she opens them again, she looks dazed.

"You taste like bubblegum," Jackie says hazily.

Kim chuckles. "Here, sit down a sec," she says, patting the counter next to her.

Jackie shakes her head. "Sorry, I can't. I'm not actually on a break. I was just walking over to the track to start my afternoon tour when I saw that scuzzball bothering you."

"Aw, so you came to rescue me? My knight in shining… uh..." Kim scans Jackie's performance outfit, a tight silver number that bares an awful lot of bronze skin and which she swears their boss picked out just to torture Kim personally (hey, she can't help it that she's the only person on staff less discreet about her sexual endeavors than Frank Stein himself!). "...lamé."

Jackie, bless her, pinks up under her scrutiny. "I know you can pretty much take care of yourself, but he looked pretty angry…"

"Thanks, dollface," Kim says, and she actually does mean it. "How about you stick around and do your next performance around here, then? Just in case he comes back…" She gives her her most flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes.

Jackie's face morphs into a strained grimace. "You know I can't. No fire-eating within seven yards of any carnival structure. Regulations."

Kim pouts prettily, but she already knows it's a lost cause. Her girlfriend is a stickler for the rules (one of the many flaws that Kim loves her in spite of). "...Alright, _fine_ ," she sighs. "But you get that sparkly butt back here the second your shift is over, it's hot and gross and I don't wanna be here any longer than we have to."

"You and me both," Jackie says emphatically, picking irritably at her skin-tight costume before trotting off in the direction of the track with a jaunty wave over her shoulder.

She watches Jackie walk away with rapt attention. If anybody asked, she would inform them she was checking out dat ass; the truth is that she's hopelessly in love and wants to keep her girlfriend in her line of sight for as long as humanly possible. It's kind of sickening, even to her. _Especially_ to her.

"You two are gross," a voice says from alarmingly close by. Kim startles and almost falls off her perch on the counter, whipping around to see that somehow in the last twenty seconds, Maka Albarn has appeared out of bloody nowhere.

"Jesus, Maka, you trying to give me a heart attack?" she grumbles.

"Sorry," Maka says, and while she does look put out, Kim doubts it has anything to do with having nearly sent her into cardiac arrest.

Actually, now that she looks closer, Maka does look _really_ down at the mouth. Her damn pigtails are even drooping. Kim doesn't need her intuition to tell her that Maka's pissed about something— the younger girl is broadcasting her displeasure so clearly through every nonverbal channel available to her that they've probably picked up her signals on the space station.

"So, uh, it's been awhile since we've had a girls' night, right?" Maka says, in a superbly forced-casual tone, completely glossing over the fact that they've never actually had a girls' night to begin with because she's always dragging her boy toy around to everything. "So I was thinking, you know, tonight would be a great night for a girls' night. So what do you say I come home with you after we all get off, and then you, me, and Jackie can hit the town?"

Kim has no intention of agreeing, since her plans for the evening involve air conditioning, wine, and a bubble bath with her girlfriend. But there's something up with Maka, and as her friend, it's Kim's responsibility to help her sort it out. And, depending on what it is, potentially hold it over her head forever as blackmail material, if she's lucky. Taking an educated guess, she pulls out her best know it all tone of voice, and says, "You don't want to go home."

Maka winces. "That obvious?"

"Yep. So spill, what's up?"

She hops up uninvited to sit next to Kim on the counter. "It's Soul."

Kim rolls her eyes. When _isn't_ it Soul, with this one? " _Shocking_."

"It's just… I… well…" She picks up a stray dart, apparently looking for a distraction, and fiddles around with it, humming awkwardly to herself as she tries to find her words.

"Oh for the love of god, spit it out already!" Kim groans.

Maka sighs. "I think I really overreacted to something earlier and pissed Soul off and we're off in two hours and I really don't wanna have to do the whole awkward motorcycle ride thing because that always sucks when he's mad and—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Kim interjects, holding up a hand to stem the tide of melodrama. "Calm the fuck down, first of all. Second of all, if you want my help, you're gonna have to start from the beginning."

Kim doesn't really credit herself with being a great listener or anything, but she at least has the patience to sit through Maka's recounting of the earlier events. And boy does it take some _serious_ patience, because despite being possibly the smartest person Kim's ever met (with the possible exception of her old high school boyfriend-turned-stalker, that's a tough call), Maka is a complete dumbass when it comes to relationships. It's frankly painful to listen to.

"...So then I basically told him to get lost, and now I'm here," Maka finishes, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"Wow," Kim says. "You really have fidelity issues, don't you?"

"Not helping."

"Sure, whatever. Look, why are you freaking out?" Kim asks. "Soul's, like, _stupid_ in love with you. Apologize, suck face a little, everything's fine, what's the big deal?"

Maka groans. "It's just… loyalty's such a big thing to Soul, and I questioned that."

"Wow, you are _seriously_ overthinking this shit. That's why I said to _apologize_ , dummy!" She draws the word "apologize" out as if emphasizing each individual letter will somehow get the message through her friend's thick skull more effectively.

"I'm… kind of bad at admitting when I'm wrong," Maka says, kicking her heels against the front of the booth absentmindedly. "This relationship stuff is all so new. When we were just friends, it was fine to just cook his favorite meal and leave the apology implied, but now that we're dating… I don't know, it feels like I should actually say it. How do I do that?"

Kim nudges her in the side with an elbow, a broad grin crossing her face. "Easy. With material wealth, how else?"

Maka stares at her like she's grown a second head, which is really uncalled-for in Kim's opinion.

"Listen, I've got an idea… but it's gonna cost you five dollars…"

* * *

The end of his shift cannot come soon enough for Soul, but somehow the final hours of his day manage to drag even slower than usual. He hasn't seen Maka since their little… can he even call it a fight? Probably not, it was a pathetic excuse for a spat, and yet it's thrown off his whole day and sent him into a tailspin of gut-sinking fear that he's about to lose the best thing that's ever happened to him. Anxiety rides high in his chest and despite the low visibility offered by the awkwardly-spaced eyeholes in his mask, he keeps a sharp watch out for his room mate/girlfriend.

No luck, though… until the end of his shift, when suddenly there she is, right there in front of him with a nervous smile on her lips.

"Hey, Soul."

For a split-second he wishes he hadn't been in quite such a rush to change out of the damned bear suit, because as uncomfortable as it is, at least it would do a better job than his blue t-shirt of hiding the fact that he's sweating buckets.

"H-Hey." He didn't stutter. Nope. Not him. Not at all.

"So, I got you something," Maka says. Just _says_ , so casually, like it's not a big deal.

"...Huh?"

She reaches out and grabs his wrist, lifting his hand so that she can place a small object in his palm. It is, he realizes, a tiny stuffed bear figure. It's about the right size to be a Christmas ornament, but appears to be a keychain charm. Maka folds his fingers closed over it.

"Uh… thanks?" He opens his hand and turns the charm around so that he can get a better look at it. It's slightly less hideous than his mascot costume. _Slightly_. "Did you buy this somewhere?" he asks, looking up into his girlfriend's wide green eyes.

"Won it, actually. At Kim's booth." She frowns. "Blew about twenty bucks on darts before I finally managed to pop one of the balloons, I can't believe my hand-eye coordination is so off today."

There are a lot of things Soul could say in response to that, but instead he just stares at her and asks, "Why did you go to all the trouble?"

Maka lets out a slow breath, and he can tell from the way she's fidgeting with the hem of that miraculously tiny skirt that she's uncomfortable, but she doesn't break eye contact. "Because I freaked out and overreacted earlier, and this is my way of apologizing."

Soul blinks. Looks back at the bear. Blinks again. "You're… apologizing?"

"Yeah. I know I get possessive and a little jealous, and that's maybe not the best thing, but it's not something I can change. But snapping at you because I was feeling insecure was childish and I'm sorry."

The relief that comes with knowing Math Class hasn't fucked up his relationship just by existing is strong enough, but having Maka Albarn— _THE_ Maka Albarn— apologizing to him is positively mind-boggling. "S'fine," he says, hoping for casual but probably just sounding kind of strangled.

Maka smiles. "So we're good?"

He nods. "We're great."

Soul is just about to sling an arm around her shoulders to walk to the front gates— because seriously, after a day like today, _fuck_ company policy, he wants to remind the entire goddamn world that he gets to date this girl— when Black Star sprints past them. The blue-haired cretin is _still_ clutching that hideous bear from earlier, and he's _still_ being pursued by weirdos in black.

"What the hell are you doing, Blake?" Maka shouts after him, looking as thoroughly confused as Soul feels.

"The Illuminati are after me and I'm gonna be famoussssssssssss!" Black Star screeches before disappearing around a corner.

Soul glances sideways at Maka, who gives him a very befuddled look. "Should… we be concerned about that?" she asks.

He shrugs. "It's probably best not to question it. I gave up trying to understand 'Star a long time ago."

"Yeah, but he was being chased," Maka points out.

He snorts. "And that's different from every other day how, exactly? He probably just pissed off some high schoolers again."

Maka contemplates this for a moment, then lets out a long breath. "This is me, officially deciding not to care," she says. "Let's go home, Soul."

A slow smile creeps over Soul's face. "Yeah, let's."

And together they walk in the direction of the park gates, hand-in-hand in the late afternoon sunshine, enjoying the sights and sounds of the carnival in companionable silence. A silence that nearly manages to be total, right up until Soul feels compelled to say, "You know Kim spray paints those balloons, right? So they won't pop as easy?"

Maka's shrieks of outrage just about turn the air blue, and as far as Soul Evans is concerned, all is right with the world.

* * *

 **A/N-** And there you have it, folks! Thanks to everyone who's already reviewed the first chapter, and for all of you readers out there who've read and possibly enjoyed this little ditty! It's not a very serious fic, clearly, but hopefully it provided some amusement nonetheless~


End file.
